


Exceeding Boundaries

by Yukaraii



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Family, Gen, Light Angst, Suspense
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-17
Updated: 2017-02-17
Packaged: 2018-09-25 02:38:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9798893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yukaraii/pseuds/Yukaraii
Summary: My fate was already written out for me even before my birth. And I do mean quite literally, after all, I was reborn into a manga series. But I will not be a sitting duck and allow my life to be controlled by anyone but myself. I will carve my own path, even if this path is made with countless sacrifices and bloodshed. Oh, and fuck you, Daemon. OC!Enma fem!Enma





	

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Katekyo Hitman Reborn.

The world was a blur to me when I opened my eyes.

Color swapped into my vision, the edges of the different pigments merging and separating as my sight sharpened momentarily only to become unfocused again.

It had been so long since I was able to see.

I still remembered my death from my previous life. I had been a third year college student at a small, private college. The date of my death was on September 21, but at that time, it was nearing midnight, so it could've been the twenty second when I died. I recalled walking back home from my part time job at a printing press where I worked as an assistant to pay off my college tuitions. The night was dark when I left the building and headed for my apartment. I could clearly remember speeding up my strides as I crossed through the empty streets, my breath coming out in puffs of wispy smoke as it came into contact with the cold air.

The time on my phone read 11:49 PM.

I had to hurry home before my roommate begin to send me messages asking where I was. I didn't have unlimited texting. I need to pay for those texts, and as a poor college student, I did not appreciate the extra fees.

My boots clicked noisily against the pavement, even more so when the surrounding area was eerily quiet. In my rush to get to my apartment, I did not notice that the sidewalks are slick with the slight drizzle of rain nor did I bother to walk around the metal plates adorning the ground. That was a mistake on my part, I admit. I should've known that the the rain made the metal slippery, and with my two inch heels, I stood no chance against the lack of friction.

My shoes slid over the metal and the world around me tilted sideways. I found myself slamming violently onto the ground, the area around my lower skull gave a sickening crunch as it collapsed against the surface of the pavement. There were flashes of light. There was pain. Then there was nothing else.

My death was fast, but it definitely wasn't painless, so I was actually slightly relieved when the pain subsided into numbness and my vision faded black.

At the beginning, I believed I was still alive. Yes, I was surrounded by darkness, but I was optimistic. After all, I still retained my consciousness. If I was dead, I wouldn't be able to do that. Right?

But the longer I stayed in the dark, the less certain I became. I did not have my phone or any devices to help me tell time. I didn't know how many hours or days passed as I stayed in the void.

I couldn't speak. I couldn't move. I couldn't see.

But I could hear.

It was soft, but if I strained my ears, I could distinguish out a rhythm beating lightly above me. It was nice. It was the only thing I could grasp on to. It kept me sane.

Ba-tum.

Ba-tum.

It didn't take me long to realize the sound was a heartbeat.

But it wasn't my heartbeat.

The sound surrounds me. I soon realized that I was within a womb. That was my only explanation for the constant beating lullaby, the warmth that enveloped me, and the occasional murmur of a woman's voice.

I was going to be reborn.

I had never been a believer of reincarnation. I always thought that death was the loss of consciousness forever. There would be no heaven after death, just as there was no hell or afterlife. The dead would not even know they were dead.

However, if reincarnation meant a new chance at life again and an escape from this darkness, I would willing accept it.

Ba-tum.

* * *

 

**Year 1**

Red.

Red was the first color I saw as it flared out in contrast to the other mundane colors.

My new mother had vibrant, crimson hair. The strands fell thickly over her shoulders and reached her back in soft waves. The color was not unlike that of clouds during a sunset, the skin or a ripe apple, or the glow of flames.

It was rather beautiful.

"It's a girl," my new mother whispered lovingly to whom I assumed to be my father. He was standing far to the back of the room, making it difficult for me to distinguish his features. "She's beautiful."

I let out a tiny gurgled as she raised me to her chest. My chubby legs wiggled around in the air before being tucked away at the crook of her arms. My mother cooed at me and murmured something in a foreign language that did not sound like Japanese.

I sleepily grabbed onto a strand of her bright hair once it was within reach, completely fascinated by the unique color and tugged lightly at the strands before shoving it into my mouth. Mother made a small sound of disapproval.

"I think she's hungry, Hitomi," the man suggested, walking over. "She's so adorable."

Mother smiled as I continued to suck at her hair, "Of course she is. She is my little Enma after all."

* * *

 

**Year 2**

My first year in my new life passed by in a haze of distorted images and fading memories. While I was a grown adult, my body was that of a child. My brain was still undeveloped and I found it impossible to remember vivid details during my first year.

Sure, I could recognize the faces of my parents, but I was unable to remember small details. I didn't remember the first word I spoke in this life, the first cartoon show on the television, or the first thing I ate that was not milk.

My brain was not the only thing that needed to grow.

I paddled with my unsteady legs to the other side of the hallway, determined to make it halfway across the carpeted floor before toppling over. I was strengthening my leg muscles. As a kid, I was just a roll of bones, skin, and fat. I didn't have any muscles to allow me to travel around the house nor move heavy objects around. I was pretty much useless without my mother.

That was unnerving for me. I was accustomed to being able to take care of myself. I prided myself as an independent woman, and being unable to even manage the smallest of tasks (walking) made me feel insecure.

My stubby legs brought me to the other end of the hallway and I cheered inwardly at my success. I plopped down on the spot I stopped at, already fatigued by the ten meters of walking I did. As my body rejuvenate, I took the chance to observe the hallway.

Most of the house was still unfamiliar to me, because I spent most of my time in my crib. I only managed to get out when my mother left me on the floor of my bedroom while she went to finish the laundries.

I peered curiously at the paintings that lined the walls. There was an oil painting of a woman in a Victorian era gown, her golden hair wrapped around her slim body and a blush colored her cheeks. Next to that painting was a portrait of a farmer working in the fields. The drawing was intricately detailed to the point where I could see beads of sweat forming on his sun tanned face and dripping down from the rim of his straw hat. A few other drawings were done in black ink with kanji and hiragana words decorating the sides. Numerous artworks hung from the pastel walls.

Most of these artworks were from my father's collection and meant to be sold within the next month. My father was an art dealer and he collected art from artists all over the world and sell it to art admirers or auction them out. Sometimes, I could catch a glimpse of black suited men as Father led them through the many hallways of the house to show them his display of artworks, hoping that the buyers would purchase a few.

I waded out of the halls and into the kitchen once my legs regained their energy. I saw Father sitting in one of the blue, plastic chairs near the kitchen table and stumbled over to him. His breakfast of scrambled eggs and bacon laid out on the table half-eaten as he read his morning newspapers.

"Papa," I greeted as soon as I stepped foot into the brightly lit room. "Papa, good morning."

My father's eyes lit up and he immediately discarded his papers in favor of lifting me up in the air. I froze and frowned unhappily as I was heaved up above his head.

"My little pumpkin! What are you doing so early in the morning?" he laughed loudly as I continued to struggle against his grip, not liking the feeling of being so high in the air. It was dangerous. What if he accidentally drop me? "Where is mama?"

"Mommy is washing clothes," I informed and let out a relieved sigh when he placed me down on the floor gently. "After that, she is going to the market to buy fish. We are having fish for dinner tonight."

I paused momentarily to contemplate the situation. If my mother was going outside, there was a good chance that I could persuade my father to let me go with her.

It was not like I didn't get to leave the house at all, but that wouldn't stop me from grasping at any chances of going outside. In my past life, I was a huge fan of the Japanese culture and I was pretty certain that I was borned in some part of Japan in this life. I wanted to see the streets of Japan and experience their culture.

"Papa?" I beginned, staring at my father and making my eyes as wide and innocent as I could. I could see him visibly melting at my gaze. "Can I go to the market too?"

I knew I won the moment he flung himself from his chair and rushed to beg my Mother to bring me along with her.

An hour later, I was tucked safely in my mother's arms as she wandered through the streets in search of discounted items and fresh groceries. Although it was only eight in the morning, the streets were already crowded with people looking for the best deals.

Signs with Japanese words fluttered in the breeze and smoke rose out from a few restaurants. I breathed in deeply as Mother carried me past a ramen shop, inhaling the sweet scent of noodles and broth. My stomach grumbled a little but the noises from the street covered it up. I already had eggs for breakfast, so I didn't really need the extra food.

Mother and I passed by many stores, sometimes stopping briefly to glance at the items on sale. We didn't stay long at any of the shops, but by the time it was near noon, Mother had more than four bags of food items on one arm and me on another. I silently applauded her strength. The wonders of a housewife.

"Enma-chan," my mother called as we walked home from our trip. "There is a new playground around this area. Would you like to stop there for a moment? You can make some new friends."

I regarded the red haired woman wordlessly. While it was a nice gesture on her part, I was not too fond of socializing, especially with kids. Just think about all the snot I would have to deal with. But, I could also see the fatigue on my mother's face. She must be tired from all the heavy bags she lugged around (and she was also carrying me, adding even more to her burden).

I was incapable of walking long distances with my toddler body, so the only way to let her rest was to agree to go to the park.

I stared into her jaded eyes and nodded in approval, gaining a small smile from her and she began heading towards the direction of where I assumed the park to be.

The place was filled to the brim with noisy, snotty kids. I almost regretted my choice of agreeing to come here. Mother set me down on one of the empty benches on the outskirt of the park and placed the large bags of grocery by my side. Meanwhile, I watched as children raced across the rubber floors, hung from blue monkey bars, and screamed "tag!" to one another. The idea of joining into the crowd did not appeal to me.

I swung my legs back and forth as I sat sulking on the bench, my white boots kicking up at the air before falling back.

Mother sat on the left of me, enjoying a bottle of tea she brought from a nearby vending machine. I had no idea when she went to buy the drink.

We stayed like this for a while, until she finished her drink and ask me to wait while she went in search of a restroom. I stared at her retreating figure until she disappeared around the corners of a dusty, brick building. I sighed as I kicked my legs up harder. I was growing bored of just sitting around but at the same, I didn't want to move around.

Gazing at the sky, I began to sink into my own thoughts. My body was unfamiliar to me even after two years. I was not used to this delicate frame. Every time I look into the mirror, I expected to see a brunet with light eyes and sharp cheekbones, not the round softness of baby cheeks or the shock of red hair. And the eyes. I had never seen eyes anything like mine. My pupils were not black. Instead, the center of my eyes were only a shade darker than the rest of the surrounding areas. A dark ring formed around where my pupil should be, with four points jagging outwards. My eyes were weird, unique yes, but definitely weird as well. No one ever commented on them, but I did received some curious glances occasionally.

I looked nothing like my previous self, and as the day drifted past, I became more and more afraid that I would start forgetting about my past life. Even now, I was incapable of recalling the faces or names of my parents from my former life. How much was I forgetting? Was I able to stop this process?

I breathed in deeply through my lips. Speaking about my parents, my current mother and father were becoming more and more distant towards me. I didn't blame them. Ever since my birth, I acted aloof and detached. For the newlywed couple, I was an enigma. I did not act like the usual children, and that was reasonable to me, considering that I wasn't a child mentally. But to my parents, they became clueless on how to act towards me. My mother was awkward near me, seemingly unsure what to say, while my father attempted to 'lighten up my mood' by always cuddling me or speaking to me like he would with any two year olds. He called me his little pumpkin or his cute Enma-chan.

Enma.

That was my name. I remembered hearing that name from a Japanese folktale I happened upon during my high school years. Enma was the homophone for the Japanese name Yama, who happened to be the judge of the dead in the Japanese legends. He decided and controlled the fate of the decreased, which I found quite ironic considering I was one of those 'decreased'. Still, I didn't deem it as a suitable name for a child.

I did not know my last name. My parents never mentioned it before, and it was not like there would be some important documents lying around with their surnames printed on it. Also, it wasn't a crucial detail for me to know. Names didn't matter much to me anyways, after all, Enma wasn't my first–

"Hey, you! Ugly red head!"

I jolted out of my daydream, lifting up my head to meet the glare of a boy no more than four years old. Yet, despise his age, his figure loomed over me threatenly. I tensed when I realized he was not alone. Four other kids banded his side, each one making themselves appear tough and strong. It would've appeared silly, but in my tiny two year old body, they looked imposing and, well, scary. The current situation does not look good.

"What can I do for you?" I started, voice formal but wary.

The leader sneered, "You're ugly! Look at your hair! It's looks exactly like a tomato!"

I suppressed a groan of annoyance. Of course… bullies.

"Thanks," I replied, not allowing the irritation I was feeling show in my voice. "But can you please leave me alone?"

They wouldn't, but at least I could try reasoning. After all, they were kids. There was no reason to be mad at them. They were just harmless kids….

One of the brats on the side decided it was a good moment to snatch my hair in his fist and give it a sharp tug. I could feel some strands ripping off from my scalp and I froze with realization that my hair was being torn away from my head.

….

They were asking for a fight, so a fight they would get.

With speed I wasn't aware I had in this body of a toddler, I jabbed my finger into the eyes of the offender, successfully making him loosen his hold on my hair. He screamed loudly before stumbling away and tripping over his own feet. Before any of the other bullies could react, I leaped over the bench and shot off away from the playground, all the while pelting them with grapes I had grabbed from the grocery bags.

"After her!" one shouted and the whole squad charged after me. I scuttled away as fast as I could, but I could feel that my legs were already losing strength. Unless I find a place to hide or an adult to deal with the bullies, I was going to be beaten up. The thought didn't interest me in the very least.

Making a sharp turn into a lane of bushes that adorned the sides of the park, I jumped into one of the leafy shrubs and held my breath. The branches scraped my skin but the leaves managed to cover me from view.

My chest rose and fell erratically as the group skid to a halt near my hiding spot. I clutched my nose to minimize the noise of my breathing, praying that they wouldn't discover my hiding spot.

"Where is she!"

"How should I know? I'm still blinded!"

My heart beated rapidly within my chest as I watched the kids searched around the nearby area for me.

"Once I get my hands on her, I will cut off all her hair!"

Ba-tum.

Ba-tum

Many of the kids were beating at the bushes with sticks they picked from the ground, hoping to find me in one of the shrubs. I tensed as one boy drew ominously close to the bush I was cowering in.

"What are you doing?"

I twitched faintly when a new voice resounded through the park. It sounded feminine and has a childish tint to it, but it was no less commanding. Poking away a few leaves, I peered out from the bush to capture the sight of the bullies inching away from the new figure.

"S-s-suzuki! What are you doing here?" the leader squeaked, losing all his previous arrogance and confidence.

The figure replied coldly, "I was just asking the same about you. Are you pestering the other children with your detestable group of underlings again?"

Twin metal fans flashed into her hands, and she slid into a defensive stance, fully prepared to fight. Not that she had to, because the bullies took one look at her, screamed, and darted away in different directions.

The figure relaxed her stance and slipped her weapons back under her skirt.

"There is no reason for you to hide anymore. Come out."

I slowly crawled out from the bush, stray twigs in my hair and a sheepish smile plastered on my face.

"Thank you," I said once I picked myself from the ground and shook the dust off my clothes. "I really appreciated your help. I thought they were going to get me…."

I heaved a sigh of relief before turning my gaze to the girl, noticing the frown on her face, the way her hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail, and the red coloration of her eyes that were strangely similar to mine.

She was also imposingly tall.

"You should be more careful next time," the girl chided disapprovingly. "Simon is a pretty safe town, but you must not get careless."

I bowed in gratitude, "Thank you for the warning. I will make sure to be more cautious next time."

Wait.

My eyes widened in shock.

Wait.

Wait. Wait. Wait.

"What… was this town called again?" I managed out weakly, my insides twisting and churning. "Was it… Simon?"

Please say no. Please say no. Pleasepleaseplease.

At the girl's curious gaze and firm nod, I felt bile rising up my throat.

Enma.

Enma was my name. I remembered hearing that name from a Japanese folktale. I remembered it as the homophone for the Japanese name Yama, the judge of the dead.

But it wasn't only that.

Enma.

I was Enma Kozato, descendant of Cozarto Simon, user of the Earth Flames, and future mafia boss of the Simon Famiglia.

An image flashed before my eyes, black print on white paper. Corpses with their blood splattered against walls. Flesh torn apart… lifeless bodies. All in a single page of a book.

The Flood of Blood.

Suzuki Adelheid stood stolidly as I vomited my partially digested breakfast onto her jacket.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I usually update my stories on Fanfiction first. You can find me at https://www.fanfiction.net/u/6137557/yukaraii if you really want to. The username for my ffn.net account is also yukaraii. 
> 
> Thanks.  
> ~ヾ(＾∇＾)


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